


Habits

by Senknowles



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bounty Hunters, F/M, Praise Kink, Rough Sex, Size Difference, Slow Burn, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 20:01:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10951698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Senknowles/pseuds/Senknowles
Summary: You're a disullusioned young bounty hunter who's been looking for work, ever since Overwatch had been rounding up local criminals. Roadhog and Junkrat aren't really looking to add anyone to their team, but you've got a set of skills they think might be useful.(this is my first time ever publishing or even really writing fanfic so any comments/advice is appreciated!)





	Habits

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rock_lee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rock_lee/gifts).



> Ok hi so! I guess this is my fanfiction debut! I absolutely love roadhog and his hugeness, as does my lovely friend corrine @rock_lee. I wrote this for her, so that's why the character has a shaved head (she's bald.) but feel free to re-imagine them as you like! i hope we can all appreciate roadhog together. side note, if you like this and want me to write more, please leave a suggestion or comment! I truly have no idea where this story is going atm.

You’d heard of Roadhog before. That name was infamous around these parts. But you never thought you’d actually SEE him, in your favorite bar, no less.

At his side was the ever faithful (if not equally infamous) Junkrat, who looked even crazier than the wanted posters had portrayed him. His wild, slightly singed hair stood up at all angles, and the scent of gunpowder was so strong that you could smell from your seat at the bar.

If Junkrat was startling in appearance, he was nothing compared to the large man in front of him. Massive seemed to be the only way to describe him, as his broad shoulders and Incredible height rendered him barely able to squeeze through the front door, his towering frame attracting all eyes from their drinks.

This was a welcome change of scenery; you had spent the previous 10 minutes avoiding conversation with the drunken fool to your right. He’d went on and on about how perty you were, how he could treat a lady like you right, and would you mind if he could feel your head? He’d never met a gal who chose to not have hair before.

The sudden arrival of the junkers gave you an excuse to shrug him off. Not that you couldn’t deal with him yourself...he was irritating, but at the moment, not a threat.  
The rowdy chatter and clinking of glasses that had previously filled the bar quickly disappeared. You’d always wondered what their deal was, why the two outlaws, so seemingly different, stuck together. Junkrat’s outburst answered your question, however. He took note of the stares, and didn’t seem fond of them.

“If any ah you wankers got a problem wit me or my bodyguard, ye can take it up with us out back!”

Well, that answered your question. Bodyguard. Obviously. While the junker was certainly dangerous on his own, he was quite skinny. He was often hired for assassinations that were made to look like ‘accidents’ and as a result, had acquired more than a few enemies.

The bar’s occupants got the message from Junkrat’s eruption; soon the familiar mutterings and obnoxious conversation started up again, if not at a slightly more anxious pace. Seemingly satisfied, Junkrat and his silent companion sauntered up to the bar not too far from where you were sitting, and demanded two of ‘whatever’s cheapest’ from the terrified young bartender. He nearly fell over himself trying to fill their steins. Junkrat cackled at his fright.

“What’s tha problem there, woo? Afraid ol Junkie’s gonna rip ya a new one?” More obscene laughter as the poor boy shakily placed their drinks in front of them. For the first time, you heard the bodyguard speak.

“None for me,” he let out as a low grumble. Junkrat looked confused. “Oi Hoggie, what’s the dealio? Dont’cha wanna celebrate our-” he whispered- “Success?”

You had to admit; that piqued your interest. The junkers were infamous bounty hunters, robbers and all around mercenaries. If you could pay, they’d do it, and the only questions they’d ask were ‘when’ and ‘where’. Two of the best in the game, actually. Despite working on capturing other outlaws for money, they themselves had quite the price on their heads. Their success was no doubt due to their flawless teamwork, you surmised. Though you hadn’t noticed it earlier, the large one was dragging beside him a burlap sack, and it appeared to be quite full. He spoke again.

“I’m driving, remember?”  
Junkrat pouted.  
“But roadie,” he whined, “why can’t we just get a gutful a piss t’night? We did our job, why not just take the night off?”

“We’re here for a quick bite to eat before we head off again. We’ve got no time to waste. I’m not discussing this further.”

“Well then,” Junkrat huffed “I’ll just take yours, an a few others fer the road!” he snapped at the trembling bartender.

You stirred you drink, listening and being careful not to stare. You were in the line of mercenary work yourself, although business had been quite dry lately. The Overwatch heroes had been making good work of the goons in the underworld, saving the town and sapping up your paycheck at the same time. Some action would be nice, but you knew better than to stick your head where it wasn’t wanted, lest you lose it.

Taking careful sips of your beverage, you decided you didn’t feel like wasting the last of your money on alcohol. Downing the rest of it in one gulp, you winced and put some money on the counter.

As you headed towards the door, however, a drawling, irritatingly familiar voice stopped you.

“Hey hotcakes, I didn’t catch your name,” slurred the drunk stranger.

“I didn’t give it,” you quipped, and began walking away, until you heard the voice again.

“Don’t you know who I am, sugar cakes?”

You stared. You didn’t have time for this man, OR his affinity for baked goods nicknames.

He obviously didn’t get the message, because he stomped over beside the junkers. They paid him no heed, as Roadhog continued eating silently, and Junkrat did everything else quite loudly.

This was, of course, until he made the ill-fated move to touch the sack of money by roadhog’s side.  
“I bet ye’d be with me if I had all this, wouldn’t you? All you women’re the same, money grubbing whores, all a you!” he spat, and moved to grab the presumably stolen items. “Bet you’d pay attention to me if I had this-” But before he even could finish his sentence, the chairs previously underneath the junkers were pushed across the floor. In one swift motion, the creep was grasping at his neck, desperately trying to pry just one of the meaty fingers that belonged to roadhog off him.

“Bad move,” Growled Roadhog.

“Wh-Why don’t we, we can-HRK-talk about this-” the man choked.

Now, you weren’t fond of drunk assholes in bars, but you really didn’t feel like sticking around to file a police report for when this fool was in the hospital-or worse, if Roadhog was true to his reputation. You glanced around, but nobody appeared to have any intention of intervening, despite the fact that most of them were outlaws themselves...heavily armed ones, at that.

Sigh.

Looks like it was up to you.

It wasn’t that you weren’t afraid of Roadhog-his sheer size alone would be enough to crush you-but a part of you craved the risk It had been a while since your last scuffle, and your fingers were itching to draw your weapon once again.

What could you say? You always had a thing for danger.

Ignoring all of the instincts shouting at you to RUN AWAY, GET OUT OF HERE, and SAVE YOUR SORRY ASS, you pushed those thoughts to the back of your mind while you pushed your legs forward, marching certainly into death itself. You were unnoticed until you cleared your throat.

“Ahem.”


End file.
